


"Yes"

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Series: Attractive, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-11
Updated: 2000-02-11
Packaged: 2018-11-11 02:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11138946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Ray is moved to experiment by his attraction to Fraser, and by Fraser's admission that he 'finds him attractive.'This story is a sequel toSnoop.





	"Yes"

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

(Yes)

 

 

I had so many requests for a sequel to "Snoop" (already!)   
that I couldn't resist. Plus it was just begging to be written. Warning: some people might consider this to be mildly  
"kinky." I don't. To me kink involves nonconsensuality, pain,  
and humiliation. None of those things will ever appear in my work.   
But just thought I'd warn the more sensitive souls among us. Thanks  
to LaT and Judi for beta. --Kellie  
  
Disclaimers: As much as I wish otherwise, Benton Fraser & Ray Kowalski  
belong to Alliance. _*sigh*_  
Rated NC17 for boys with boys  
and boys with toys.  
  
  


* * *

  


  
**Yes**  
c. 2000  
Kellie Matthews

         _"Do you find  
me attractive?"_  
        Although  
he still doesn't believe he had the nerve, or the insanity, to actually  
ask Fraser that, especially in front of three total strangers, Ray is  
still inwardly ecstatic over the reply he'd gotten to his question.  
         _"Yes, very much  
so."_  
        He  
loves those words, and the patent honesty with which they were said.  
He takes them out to look at them every so often, carefully not looking  
at the frame in which they rested, the frame which could, if examined  
too closely, negate some of their startling power. Fraser. Benton Fraser  
thinks he's attractive. Every time he thinks it, it sends a shiver of  
dangerous and distracting delight through him. Fraser, perfect, beautiful  
Fraser thinks his scrawny little ass is attractive. And he should SO  
not be dwelling on that. It's bad enough that since the day Fraser had  
walked into the 27th and looked at him through bewildered  
(and okay, slightly suspicious) blue-gray eyes his fantasies have suddenly  
taken a 180-degree shift from his ex-wife and the occasional Penthouse  
Pet or Playgirl centerfold, to a certain Mountie.  
        He  
sincerely hopes that he's mastered enough acting skill on his various  
undercover gigs that Fraser has no idea just how often Ray looks at him  
and imagines him buck naked and doing things that would no doubt bring  
a serge-scarlet blush to those pale cheeks. He knows it's crazy, but  
since when is sexual attraction logical? Never, in his experience.  
It just . . . is. And _boy_ is it. From the very first moment  
he'd heard "Ray!" and turned around to be stunned slack-jawed  
by the man calling his name, he's had the downest, dirtiest thoughts  
about Constable Benton Fraser and what he wants to do with him, or to  
have done to himself by him.  
        It  
only took a week for his newfound infatuation to go from a low-grade  
simmer to the point where he'd gone online, found a place that sold .  
. . toys, and actually _bought_ one. Along with a how-to book,  
because for all that he's always found the random guy attractive enough  
to fantasize about, his fantasies had never gone _that_ far until  
now. It's always just been touching and kissing, maybe a handjob, and  
if he's really going all out, maybe a little sucking. Of course after  
getting the toy and more importantly the book, he'd had to go back online  
to order the lube. Duh. He should have figured that would be necessary.  
But then again it wasn't like he should know because he's never done  
it with a guy and chicks kind of provide their own. Heh, at least he  
already had rubbers. And now he'll actually get to use them before they  
expire, 'cause they sure aren't getting used the regular way.  
        He's  
distracted for a moment by thoughts of getting to use them with Fraser,  
or. . . oh, jeez. . . of Fraser using them on the toy, with him. . .  
uh oh. He has to close his eyes, and bite his lip for control. Unless  
he wants to come before he even gets started, he'd better not even think  
about thinking about that. As he rips open one of the packets, he imagines  
rolling that thin, slick film down over a beautifully erect, uncut Benton  
Fraser cock. Yeah, he knows it's uncut. He peeked when they were at  
the urinal. Discreetly. Yes, he knows what that word means, and how  
to do it. Guys learn in grade school how to check out another guy's  
equipment without making it obvious. And why the hell is he defending  
himself to himself anyway?  
        Back  
to his fantasy . . . rolling the condom down over Fraser's cock, and  
then smoothing a lube-covered hand over it, like. . . this. Yeah. Damn,  
he likes this thing, well okay, maybe hot pink hadn't been a great choice  
but a toy should look like a toy, right? But no matter what it looks  
like, it feels. . . real. Amazingly real. He closes his eyes so he's  
not distracted by the color, and so he can visualize Fraser more clearly.  
Yeah. Dark curls, pale skin, darkly flushed, maybe pink wasn't such  
a bad choice after all. He squeezes, very gently. Firm, resilient,  
mmmyeah. Imagines the arch, the catch in the breath. Maybe that tongue  
thing he does, moistening that mouth that haunts his dreams.  
        Filling  
in his mental picture, he imagines Fraser reaching out to touch him,  
drops his other hand to his groin, strokes himself, slowly, trying not  
to rush it, but once he gets started, it's so hard not to just go for  
it. But he wants, needs, more. A newly-discovered need, deep, and insistent.  
Shifts a knee up, slides slick fingers down and back, strokes, shivering  
in expectation. Not his own fingers, Fraser's. Benton's. Ben's. Thinking  
that name is like a forbidden thing, like saying 'fuck' in church. Ben.  
Taboo. Erotic. Ben's hand on his hip, shifting him onto his side, moving  
into place behind him. He's trembling a little, anticipation alive in  
his veins. Now.  
        Now.  
He's thrown out of the fantasy a little as he pushes, breath hissing  
over teeth, instinctive resistance. No, just relax. Remember? Push  
into-against, and . . . yield. Yeah. Slow, sweet stretch, strange fullness.  
Fuck, so good, yeah. The first time he'd done this, the first thirty  
seconds (seemed like longer) had been spent wondering why the hell anyone  
would *ever* do this, but then it was like something inside him just  
opened up, and it slid in, and he wondered why the hell everyone didn't  
do this all the time. Why hadn't anyone ever told him how good it felt?  
He felt cheated. Could've been doing this for years.  
        In.  
To the base. Yeah. In his mind, he feels the crush of dark curls there,  
rough, but soft against his ass. Shudder, a little quiver of almost-coming  
licking at his nerve endings. Ohgod. Yeah there. Just there. Fucking  
 _there_. He rolls onto his back, feeling Ben beneath him, broad,  
strong chest under his back, smooth, flat belly beneath his hips. Splays  
his thighs out to make room for Ben's between them, arches upward, feeling  
hands on his chest, fingers tugging at his hardened nipples. Hips buck,  
up, down, hard, hard enough to feel the soft-full weight of balls against  
his perineum (cool word, _Fraser_ word, never knew that's what it  
was, until he got the book). Better, inside, a rush of perfect sensation.  
Oh yeah. Yeah. Tosses his head against the smooth curve of pillow/shoulder  
beneath it.  
        "Fuck  
me," he moans (quiet, don't disturb the neighbors). "God,  
Ben. Fuck me."  
          
Hips moving, slow, glide, like dancing. Feel the slide inside him.  
Heat rushing through his skin, making him sweat and shiver. Slide, glide,  
back, forth, up, down, yes oh yes. Feels it starting, so deep, never  
knew how deep it could start. He goes still for a minute, completely  
still, until the sensation fades a little. Doesn't want it to happen  
too fast. No, wants it slow, wants it to last. There. Okay. Back  
in control.  
        New  
motion, a kind of circling, stirring. The slide inside is easier every  
second, all resistance gone, he's just open, and surrendered and filled  
up to the brim. Rocks gently, feeling the butt of blunt tip inside him.  
Amazing. His belly feels cool where he's leaked on it, and a current  
of air touches that wetness. He puts his fingers there, strokes the  
slick skin, pushes down against the flat plane just above the damp tangle  
of pubic curls, pushes hard. If he pushes hard enough, can he feel Ben  
there, inside him? No, but it feels good, so good. Starts to rock again,  
hands fanned out on his thighs. His hands/Ben's hands, guiding him,  
increasingly urgent.  
        "Touch  
me," he whispers. "Please." A plea, a demand. Touch  
me outside, and in. Need touch. So hard, full, full to the brim. Inside.  
Out. He knows he could come, just like this, without ever being touched,  
but wants touch, craves it. One hand moves to his hip, holding hard,  
one curves around his aching cock. Warm, broad palm (narrow, long-fingered  
but pretending), sturdy, strong, almost rough, squeezing stroking. He  
arches into the touch, falls back, into the filling weight, again, again,  
again, slide stroke full fill poetry in his body, in every nerve, starting  
again, starting deep. Harder. Deeper. Harder.  
        Desperate  
buck of hips, hand clenching on his cock. "God! Ohgod! Ben!"  
Hits like an explosion. He's tapped into a well of sensation at pressure,  
pumping it through him, out of him in thick, sweet spurts. Stars behind  
his closed eyelids, quasars, pulsars, spilling energy into the void of  
his need, filling it, filling him. Filling him. So full. That's what  
he does, what Ben does. Fills him. Ful-fills him. . . don't go there.  
        Minutes pass. Boneless  
sprawl, breathing starts to even out. He's wet, sweat, and semen on  
his skin. He skims a thumb across a puddle, brings it to his mouth,  
sucks. Salty-sweet, stings his tongue strangely. A shiver racks him  
as he images what it would be like to taste Ben this way. Wants to.  
Needs to. No. Not need. Can't be need. Can't put that on Ben. It's  
bad enough he's using him like this, would be worse to let it slip.  
He sighs. It's just want. Lots of want. Keep it here, hidden away  
where it can't be seen, or heard, or felt, except by him. It's not so  
bad. He can do this, keep it separate.  
        Sighs  
again. He's starting to ache a little. This is the only bad part.  
The part where he can't pretend any more, can't make it Ben any more.  
Not Ben; Fraser, he corrects himself. Fraser. Don't slip, Ray. Don't  
slip. Fraser. He shifts his hips, twists, and he's free with a soft  
inhale of breath. Hates this part. Wants to be held. Wants to go to  
sleep with arms around him, bodies tangled, sweaty. He snorts derisively  
at himself. Fuckin' hearts and flowers, Ray Kowalski. Yeah, that's  
him. Too damned romantic for his own good.  
        The  
clock-radio clicks on, telling him he's out of time. He sits up, stripping  
the condom off his erstwhile lover, and heads for the bathroom to shower  
and dress. Face another day of wanting, and only, sort-of, having.  
That's more than he's had in a while though, so it's better than it could  
be. And it's pretty good, really. Fraser likes him. That's clear.  
Hell, even the damned wolf likes him. Maybe as lunch, maybe as a buddy,  
hard to tell, but it's like. And there's still that ambiguous hope inside  
him.  
        _"Do you find  
me attractive?"_  
        _"Yes,  
very much so."_  
        Yes.  
        He smiles at his reflection  
in the mirror, a little smug.  
         _Yes._

 

* * * finis * * *

* * *

Feedback to: Kellie

 


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